


French Canadian 101

by jacquessaintlaurent



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: And More Fluff, Fluff, M/M, it's cute okay, jack teaches bitty french
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquessaintlaurent/pseuds/jacquessaintlaurent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Excuse me!” Bitty protests. “We can’t all be smart French-Canadian hockey players who speak ten languages!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	French Canadian 101

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cloudsandpassingevents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsandpassingevents/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVE CLOUDSANDPASSINGEVENTS!!! literally 90% of all my work is bc of her and i'm pretty sure at least part of this fic was inspired by one of hers.
> 
> this has like no warnings it's the most innocent piece of fluff ever please enjoy

“Le Blue-Blank-Rogue,” Bitty sounds out.

“ _Le Bleu-Blanc-Rouge_.”

Bitty startles heavily, almost falling out of the chair. He whips around, hoping - “Jack!”

Jack’s arms were crossed, a small smile playing around his mouth. “Bittle. What are you doing?”

He’s been caught. A flush rises up Bitty’s cheeks, and he ducks his head to avoid looking directly at Jack. “I just - I heard you say something about the Canadians -”

“Le _Canadiens_ , Bittle. Your French really is terrible.”

“Excuse me!” Bitty protests. “We can’t all be smart French-Canadian hockey players who speak ten languages!”

Looking down, Bitty tweets, _Let the chirping begin_.

“Smart, eh?”

Bitty refuses to look up.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to work on your French, then.”

At that, Bitty perks up, eyes wide. Leaning forward, he asks, “Does that mean you’re going to teach me how to speak French?”

Jack laughs. “That might be too high of a goal for your Southern accent to handle. But we’ll see. Let’s go get coffee.”

_/ _/ _/

“Je mappel.”

“Je _m’appelle_ , Bittle, this is the most basic French term I can teach you.”

“I thought that was _bonjour_.”

Jack tilts his head. “Passable.”

Bitty mock-stutters. “Passable? It’s been two hours and all I get is passable? You listen here, Jack Zimmermann -”

“It’s been two hours and all you’ve learned to say is _bonjour_ ,” Jack interrupts, shaking his head. His eyes were blue and happy and his mouth was soft, though, so Bitty counted it as a win. “I’m beginning to think you’re mispronouncing things on purpose.”

Bitty fights the blush threatening to crawl up his neck. “My goodness, Mr. Zimmermann, you’re just overbaord with the chirping and the accusations today. To think - to think I’d ever _lie_ -”

Jack’s shoulders were shaking by now, and Bitty trails off, eyes stuck on Jack’s broad shoulders - his well-defined arms, coming up to cover his face, which is - open, and unguarded, and fond, and so, so, gorgeous Bitty forgets to breathe for a second. The soft, yellow light from the windows of Annie’s fall perfectly on Jack, and the old mug he has is just a little too small for his big hands, and Bitty - Bitty’s cup is empty, and he needs a refill.

He stands up abruptly, clutching his mug. Jack looks up, brow furrowed, making his already droopy eyes a little more droopy. “What’s wrong, Bittle?”

“I - ah - I, I need a refill,” Bitty stutters, for real this time. “All this work is making me thirsty.” _In more ways than one_ , Bitty thinks to himself miserably.

Jack smiles and gets up. “Perfect. I need one too. Here.” He holds out his hand for Bitty’s mug, and Bitty’s so disoriented he gives his free hand to Jack to hold instead.

It isn’t until much later, when Bitty’s in bed replaying the three hours they spent at Annie’s over and over again in his head, when he realizes that Jack had, once again, managed to pay for Bitty’s drink, and didn’t even try to force him to drink one of the healthier options.

_/ _/ _/

“So how do you say cold in French?” Bitty wonders out loud, shivering as he walks to Faber for checking practice.

Jack looks sideways at him. “ _Froid_ ,” he says, and then he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over Bitty’s shoulders.

Bitty would protest, he really would, his mother raised him up right, but Jack’s jacket was so warm and big on him, and it’s happened so many times already - Bitty’s beginning to think the only reason Jack ever wears his jacket to these practices is to give it to Bitty on the walk there. Bitty is okay with that. He snuggles deeper into the jacket, pushes his arms as far as they can go into the sleeves, which still cover his hand with more left over. He looks up at Jack, suddenly shy. “Thank you.”

Jack smiles at him, quick and small. Bitty falls in love all over again.

_/ _/ _/

Once they get to the rink and start skating, though, Jack’s back to business. The practice is going well for once, Bitty taking the first few checks with no problem, so Bitty decides to make conversation not related to hockey.

“So - frou?”

Jack frowns. “What?”

“How to say cold. In French. You said it was something like frou?”

“Oh my god, Bittle,” Jack’s lips are pressed together, as if he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “ _Froid_.”

“Freh.”

“ _Froid_.”

“Freh.”

“Bittle.” Jack’s definitely laughing now. “ _Fr-oid_.”

“Foid?”

Jack shakes his head. “You can’t pronounce the _fr_ correctly.”

“So, fr-”

Jack suddenly rams into him. Bitty shrieks and slams into the boards, but gets back up instantly to glare at Jack.

Jack’s grinning, entirely unabashed. “That was a good one, Bittle.”

Bitty huffs and skates off. Jack could catch up by himself.

_/ _/ _/

It’s been four hours, and Jack still wasn’t back at the Haus. He didn’t have a class and he wasn’t meeting George. Bitty sets out for Faber.

Jack, as predicted, is there, skating in circles around the rink and pucks littering the ice. A good number of them are stuck in the net.

Bitty sighs and goes to lace up his skates.

When he steps onto the ice, Jack gives no indication that he sees Bitty. He just keeps on skating and taking shots, over and over.

Bitty skates over. “Jack.” he says.

Jack doesn’t answer.

Bitty skates so that he’s in front of Jack. “Jack,” he says again, gently.

Jack stops only so he won’t run into Bitty. He opens his mouth to say something, but Bitty beats him to the punch.

“How do you say skating in French?”

Jack blinks, mouth still open. He shuts it with a click, then says, “ _Patiner_.”

Bitty nods and starts skating again, next to Jack. “What about checking?”

Jack’s shoulders relax, and his mouth softens, and Bitty’s not so worried anymore.

_/ _/ _/

When Jack kisses him, Bitty stands in the same place for five minutes straight.

Jack kissed me, he thinks, and then he looks up how to say “I love you” in French.

_/ _/ _/

Bitty’s fingers rest, feather-light, on Jack’s hands, so much bigger that his own. He picks them up, places a kiss on the top of each finger. “What are these?”

Jack’s smiling down at him fondly. “ _Les doigts_.”

Bitty lets his hands run up Jack’s arms. “These?”

“ _Les bras_.”

Biting his lips, Bitty leans foward, hands falling down to Jack’s chest, then his stomach. Jack laughs, unable to keep it in, and Bitty can’t help laughing as well.

“Shh,” he whispers. “My parents.”

Jack nods and smiles. “ _L’estomac_ ,” he tells Bitty.

Bitty’s hands travel up, up to Jack’s cheeks, holds Jack’s face in his hands.

“ _Le visage_ ,” Jack breathes, eyes on Bitty’s face.

Bitty gives in and traces his fingertips on Jack’s lips.

It’s Jack’s turn to kiss Bitty’s fingers. Bitty huffs a quiet giggle, and Jack pretends to bite them. “ _Les lèvres_ ,” he says.

Then Jack leans forward and kisses him, slow and hot and syrupy, and Bitty forgets about learning French.

_/ _/ _/

Bitty had been waiting for this weekend for months, since the last time he saw Jack in Georgia. It’s the first time he’s been to Jack’s apartment, but he got to Providence so late, all he got to see was the kitchen before stumbling, in Jack’s arms, into his bed and cuddling until they both fell asleep.

Now, the light is shining through Jack’s fancy blinds, soft enough not to be jarring. Bitty’s surrounded in heat, Jack curled up around him, preventing him from escaping. Jack’s quiet breaths flutter into Bitty’s hair, and his arms are around Bitty’s stomach, and Bitty never wants to leave.

In a while, though, Jack begins to stir, snuffling into Bitty and grumbling about the light, burrowing his face into Bitty’s hair. Bitty laughs and turns around, bring his arm up to pet Jack’s hair, soft and unruly. Jack’s eyes open slowly, sleepy and blue.

Bitty’s breath catches.

“Jack,” he whispers. Jack smiles up at him, fond and beautiful.

“ _Je t’aime_.”


End file.
